Sibling rivalry
by Love is a Mayer
Summary: Sherlock's half-brother,Verner, comes to stay at 221b baker street, bringing with him feelings for a certain ex army doctor. New character; dark themes.
1. News

_**Before we get started, there are a few things you should know. This story is mainly a Holmes/Watson (John and Verner)fic. There will be a bit of Johnlock, really just in Sherlock's mind, and Mystrade. It will flip from between Sherlock, John, and Verner's point of view often. I won't go into all the details of the smut, if there even is any of that in here, more like hinting at it then actually writing it XD I'll most likely have dark themes in here because Verner isn't that stable(are any of the Holmes's?) so I'll put a warning at the beginning of that chapter for the darker parts. Any other information will be put at the end under Author's Notes. It's to answer any questions that chapter may have raised. Now that you know, enjoy^-^**_

* * *

John grimaced inwardly as he poured himself a cup of coffee that morning. He glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, noting how ridged the detective was in his seat at the kitchen table. The little sun light that filtered in through the front room window bounced harshly off of the microscope Sherlock held between his elegant fingers, illuminating the various body parts that lined the kitchen counters. John felt a swell of disgust rise up at the sight of them. How was he supposed to eat in a place that adorned the limbs of the dead, anyway?

"Why must you constantly ruin this place, Sherlock," John had yelled at Sherlock his very first week living at the flat. He knew better now, though, to not ask the question, seeing as it only elicited a minor wave from the detective and a promise of cleaning it up later. But later was a word the consulting detective must have deleted from his brain, John had learned.

Across the room, Sherlock was deep in thought, but not about eerie cleaning habits.

There was something missing, some crucial information on the missing child case he and John had been working the past week that he initially over looked the first time. A little boy had gone missing from his home in lower London about a week ago, though no one thought anything of it. His mother lived in a city about an hour away from the boy's home; the police stubbornly believing that she let her kid stay over the weekend, seeing as how their family was split from an awful divorce. That she answered the phone the next day and told them as much practically closed the case for good. But Sherlock knew better, after having worked the Carl Powers case; he knew that there was more behind the family's charade.

John strode over to the table, if a little cautiously, and took up a seat next to his flat mate. He set a blue chipped mug next to the microscope, with a little smile.

"How's it going so far?" He asked.

"I'm not getting anywhere." Sherlock admitted. "I thought it might've been the uncle, but his alibi is to tight; to perfectly crafted, like he wanted me to see through it."

"Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe go ask around to see if they spotted anyone attacking the boy?"

"That won't help," Sherlock waved dismissively. "No one was around him when it happened, of that I'm certain. Why don't you go and..."

John pursed his lips when Sherlock trailed off, not finishing what he had been about to say. "Go and... what, Sherlock?"

But the consulting detective wasn't paying attention anymore as he flipped excitedly through a blood slide under the microscope.

"Okay, I'll just sit on the sidelines again, while you solve the case. I mean, I'm not a proper genius or anything, so I get it," John sarcastically said as he shoved roughly away from the table.

He set aside his empty coffee mug as he shuffled towards the front door, glad to be able to concentrate on something, even if it was only letters. Bending towards the mail slot, John gathered the scattered envelopes into a neat little pile so he could sort through them easier.

"Bill...bill...bill...case sheet...bill. Do we ever get anything other than bloody bills?"

As if in spite, a gust of wind blew through the open window, successfully whipping the mail out of John's flustered hands.

"Oh!" He cried as he bent down to retrieve them from under Sherlock's arm chair. There was some yelling, and a lot of cursing coming from underneath the small recliner; so much that it sounded like something had eaten him whole. Though, a couple of seconds later, John Watson reappeared from underneath the chair, looking, if possible, even angrier than he had been when he first went under.

"SHERLOCK!" He yelled at the top of his lungs as he stocked off towards the kitchen. Sherlock glanced up, distracted, as a white, water logged envelope landed in front of him with a soft thud.

"What is that?" John asked, crossing his arms impatiently.

"It's an envelope, John."

"I know it's an envelope, Sherlock! I meant the letter inside."

"Listen," Sherlock began. "I can't be bother-"

"When were you going to tell me about your brother?" John cut in before Sherlock could dismiss him.

If Sherlock was surprised about the turn of conversation, he didn't show it. Instead, he rolled his eyes before he went back to scanning slides. "I didn't think it was important; not something that I'd waste my time on." He stated rather curtly.

"Not important? Not important!? Sherlock, you've got another brother that I didn't even know about until now, one that I had to find out through a moldy letter under your chair! Did you even read the letter?"

"Oh, dull, John. He's my half-brother and only wants more money for his drinking habit; not something that I'm going to help with."

"And how do you know this?"

"It's obvious," Sherlock replied halfheartedly. "The envelope is cheap, so is the pen he wrote with. He didn't have enough money to get anything better so he made do, probably writing it on cardboard. And then there's his handwriting."

"His handwriting?"

"If Verner takes pride in anything, it's his handwriting skills. He did a slap job at best, obviously under a strong alcoholic influence at the time. I can't deal with something so trivial when there's something so deliciously complicated in front of me."

"You're losing it, Sherlock."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked coldly as he looked up from the microscope.

"He wasn't drunk, and he's not asking for money." John held up the letter he had found inside the envelope

. "His mom recently died and he needs somewhere to stay while he tries to start a life of his own, apparently. He's flying down here. To live with us, Sherlock. It says that he's going to help pay the rent, too."

Before John could even look up from the letter, Sherlock pushed away from the table violently, causing his chair to fly back loudly as panic ceased his face. "When did he send that letter?" He asked frantically, grabbing onto John's shirt.

"Umm...last week, I think." John answered roughly as Sherlock shook him.

"Are you sure, John? You have to be absolutely certain."

"Why does it even matter, Sherlock? He's not going to kill us or anything."

"Oh, he's going to try." Sherlock muttered to himself.

"I don't get it, why are you so scared of him?" John asked as the detective let go, pacing angrily.

"Scared? Why would I be scared of Verner, John? He's a kid, a child; just got out of uni."

John opened his mouth only to shut it a second later in confusion. "What...I don't follow what you're saying. If he's just a kid then why are you so wound up about this?"

"He's not just a kid, John." Sherlock muttered, pacing faster. "He's an absolute evil genius. Everything he does is to spite me and my work. I can't have him coming here and risk the case!"

"Now now now, where are your manners, Shirley? Or did you delete those, too?" A deep voice asked, belonging to neither Sherlock nor John.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

-That case that Sherlock is working on is a fake case; I invented it for the sake of the fic. You'll see why later.

-Sherlock may come across to you as a complete ass in this fic. I know, I had a hard time writing him as such:/ It's mainly due to the case and Verner just showing up out of nowhere. In my opinion, he had to have a different take with his half-brother because he acts totally, somewhat, different with Mycroft.

-And before any of you say anything, Sherlock Holmes did indeed have a half-brother named Verner. It's in the books so I'm telling the truth. And he was in fact a doctor who bought John's practice when John went into retirement. I just kind of reversed their ages is all.


	2. Verner

The deep voice belonged to the man that had just stepped through their open door. Early- to mid-thirties, John guessed, though he had that face that could've put him anywhere from twenty to thirty. Unlike Sherlock and Mycroft's dark brown hair, he had short, greased back blonde locks with one errant curl in front that wouldn't behave.

And even though he couldn't have been more than five-nine, five ten, he had this presence about him. This confidence. When he stepped forward a bit more, even Sherlock stopped pacing enough to glare angrily at him.

"Maybe if you actually took some time to read my letter, you would've known that I was coming." Verner shook his head, furrowing his brow. "And don't act like I'm Satan incarnated, either."

"Tell that to Mycroft because that's where you're staying." A rather pissed of Sherlock snapped as he stalked forward, ready to shove his half-brother out the door.

Before Sherlock could lay a finger on his shoulder, however, he was being wrenched back by John's hand. "Hold on a second. If he traveled all the all the way from Lenslow, the least we could do is let him stay here a while."

Always the helpful one, aren't you? Sherlock thought begrudgingly as he re- positioned his shirt's collar. "Fine. But we're not guaranteeing anything, Verner. If I so much as even see you breathing on this case, you'll be wishing you weren't alive."

Verner must have seen his opening. "That's fine, that's fine. There'll be no problems with me; I'll be a perfect gentleman for the duration of my stay, sir!" The blonde haired man laughed, mock saluting Sherlock as he slinked off to the kitchen.

When he was out of sight, Verner turned his blue-green eyes on John, sizing him up instantly, the way Sherlock always did. "So, who are you?" He asked mildly, with a tiny hint of protectiveness for his brother.

"I'm-we're..."John stuttered nervously, stepping backwards slightly. They way Sherlock had snapped at Verner was almost unsettling. If anything, Sherlock was a kind, if socially impaired, person. But what John had just witnessed from his flat mate was anything but kind. It was as if Sherlock had become a different person overnight, transitioning into a cold hearted villain.

"Let me guess," Verner piped up, when John refused to speak. "You're his new fling for now? Well, take my advice and just leave because he's not getting any better than what he is now."

"What? No, it's not- we're not-why would-" He stammered yet again. "I'm not in a romantic relationship with Sherlock."

"He's my friend." Sherlock yelled from the kitchen.

"Colleague." John corrected as he shook hands with Verner. "I'm Dr. John Watson, by the way."

Verner's blonde eyebrows rose up in surprise. "You're a doctor, too?"

John scratched his nose. "More or less. I was an ex-army doctor; now working at St. Bart's to help pay for this flat."

"Oh wow! An ex-army doctor? Think you can help me for my medical final? None of that stuff is making any sense."

"I could try," he answered bashfully, clearly shaken by Verner's change of attitude. "It's been a while since I've done anything like that, though."

"That's all I'm asking." He laughed a little bit loudly, twirling around. "So...do I get to sleep on the ground...or what?"

John nearly punched himself in the face for forgetting his manners. "No, no no. Well, not on the ground at least, anyways. Here, I'll show you to your room." John tilted his heads towards the hallway in front of him and began to lead the way, all while ignoring the pointed look Sherlock gave him.

Once they were both alone in the little hallway, John began to point things out. "That over there is Sherlock's room." He said, gesturing towards a closed wooden door. "And across from it is your room, for now."

"For now?" Verner asked in speculation.

"While you're living here indefinitely, I mean." He gestured towards the room. "Now, it's not as big as some places, and the closet is rather destroyed, but it does have a good sized bed for you to sleep in. You can also reach the bathroom fairly easily from here by going down the hallway and to the right. Though, I would try to get in there as early as possible because Sherlock likes to use the toilet for experiments. There's always our land lady, Mrs. Hudson; she'll let you use her bathroom once every month, so do it only on emergencies."

"Sounds fun," Verner replied dryly. "But, there are only two rooms."

"Uhuh" John replied, avoiding the other man's eyes.

Verner took a moment to look taken aback. "Then where do you sleep?" He asked, inspecting the room for the first time. And when his eyes settled on the newly made bed, and striped jumpers folded in a neat pile in the corner, realization dawned across his face. "Oh, John-I don't...this is too much. I can't take your room from you."

"It's fine, it's fine, Verner, really. You're Sherlock's half-brother and a guest in our flat. I've been in the war, remember, so I'm used to sleeping on whatever I can find." Every word was spoken with his usual soft, caring tone. However, Verner could hear the hard-toned implications underneath. John was serious.

Running a hand through his blonde hair, Verner thanked him profusely. "Thanks a lot, John." He finished. "Most people just look at me and forget I'm even there."

"It's my pleasure, actually. We hardly ever get any guests, well we never get any, but that's beside the point. No one wants to step a foot in Sherlock's general direction and I don't blame them."  
OooOoo  
Each of the inhabitants of 221b Baker street took to their new accommodations differently.

Sherlock, of course, was extremely displeased with the thought of anyone but John mucking around the flat. He had been quiet that whole morning, grunting occasionally whenever John or Mrs. Hudson tried to ask him something. He blamed it on focusing on the case, but John knew better; saw it every time Sherlock thought he wasn't watching.

John, being more used to people, couldn't help the smile that sprung to his face every time he heard a noise that wasn't made by Sherlock. The consulting detective wasn't really one for long talks and conversation and usually liked to keep to himself. Though, now that there was someone else besides him in the house, the mood around the place began to pick up a bit (if only because of John.)

Verner knew exactly how he felt about his accommodations. It wasn't a mansion in the least, but it was generous, and very trusting of John to have given up his room for a complete stranger. Trust was something he hadn't been giving in a long time. While he explored every corner of the little room- from the broken closet to the chipped ceiling-he only hoped that he could keep the gift he had no right in deserving.

OooOoo

Dinner was, in its own right, a bloody disaster.

John finally got a reluctant Sherlock to move his papers and microscope into the front room so that they could use the table. "You've never sat down and had dinner with me, John. You're trying to impress him, I can see it." The last sentence was said with a slight frown as he crossed his arms childishly.

"I never had a proper dinner with you, Sherlock, because you're not normal. Remember the first time I tried? You didn't even let the meat cook through before you yanked it out and started stabbing things in it." Verner glanced warily at the two before cracking in a fit of giggles.

Sherlock glared dangerously at Verner as John set a large bowl of mash potatoes down in between them. "John, if there are already mash potatoes on top of the Shepard's pie, then why give us another bowl of them?" Verner asked, poking at the steaming bowl with his fork. "I'm taking a wild stab in the dark, but are you trying to kill us with all of these?"

"I very bloody well should be trying, seeing as how it took me and Mrs. Hudson five hours to cut and mash them." John took his seat. "Now, we're going to sit down and enjoy each other's company, okay?"

Sherlock caught John's attention, sneering across the table at Verner. "How can I possible enjoy _his_ company? Any second now, John, and he's going to sneak away; stealing whatever valuable thing you cherish because he can't help it. He's a thief, and the faster you know that, the faster I can get on with my case, which this embarrassing attempt at a dinner is getting in the way of."

"Look, Sherlock, I know that right now you only care about your case, but Verner's your brother so give him a chance. Or at least pretend to give him a chance."

Verner, trying to calm the two friends down, spoke. "You know, I could always just find somewhere-"

"No, it's alright. Sit back down." John said, stabbing his pie a little too forcefully. "Sherlock's being rude is all, nothing to worry about."

Sherlock bristled. "_Me_._Rude? _Do you even hear yourself?"

John threatened, "Sherlock, just don't."

"Come on, then, John. Let's see what you're made of; what the military has taught you." He took his fork from the table and began to nibble on it, like everything was okay.

And everything was not okay, well, at least from Verner's point of view. He started shrink lower and lower into his chair at the table, watching the fight with a mixture of worry and curiosity.

John abruptly stood up, knocking his chair over as he walked over towards Sherlock. The consulting detective smirked inwardly as he glanced upwards. With a loud sigh, he too stood up, straightening his back so that he was his full height.

"Sherlock!" He mumbled darkly. "Stop behaving like a little child and stop treating me like I'm not your friend."

"You are not my _friend!_ I don't have _friends"_

John stood taut for a moment. Then, forgetting they had company over, John yanked the fork Sherlock had been chewing, right out of his mouth and pulled back his fist.

Sherlock looked momentarily panicked, but then he squared himself and waited for John's fist to come flying, which happened in less than three seconds. Using what little knowledge he had acquired from fighting, the detective dodged the first punch. He wasn't expecting the second.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

-Right, well there you go! Verner's opening scene! Just so you don't get confused, I was picturing Verner looking like Benedict with his blonde curly hair(like in Parade's End)

-I hope I got John's caring nature across well, because I wanted him to seem like he put other people before him foremost(being an ex army doctor and all)

-Also, so no one get's confused, Sherlock does state John as his friend in the beginning, but during the dinner scene he says otherwise. In my messed up head, I kind of took it as Sherlock's way of saying that he was jealous of John being so friendly towards Verner.

-Now that that's out of the way, school has just begun for me so chapter updates might be slow, but they will still be coming^-^ Thank you and please drop by a review! It makes my day to see people liking my story.


End file.
